


A Canvas Sky

by whittackers



Series: Make-believe [3]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Amnesia, Art Block, Depression, Fluff and Angst, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-12
Updated: 2018-04-12
Packaged: 2019-04-21 21:28:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14293830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whittackers/pseuds/whittackers
Summary: After losing six years of his memory, Grantaire tries to fit back into a life he can't remember making for himself.---A sequel toIt's Only a Paper Moon





	A Canvas Sky

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who commented on Paper Moon, those comments meant a lot to me <3  
> See end notes for warnings.

_\- 2011 - The Morning After -_

Grantaire woke up, still on the kitchen floor.

Last night had been bad. The blood pooled around his head only confirmed what his head declaimed - his headache the worst he'd ever experienced, and for someone who'd spent the better part of the past two years drunk that was saying something. Worse than the blood and the pain was the sunlight streaming through the high kitchen windows that indicated it was well into afternoon.

(Actually, the very worst thing was that when he glanced over and saw the painting he was working on last night, it wasn't even that bad.)

With a groan, Grantaire heaved himself up and over to the wall where his phone was charging. 16:38. Thirteen missed calls from Bossuet, who was waiting to meet up at the college Grantaire was about to be starting at.

Grantaire hit redial and held the phone up to his ear, the side away from the blood.

"Hey,"

"R! You're alive!" Bossuet beamed over the phone.

Grantaire had spent the two years since he'd graduated high school dodging any form of responsibility - he wasn't practised at having people rely on him, and he'd almost forgotten how crap it was. With a sigh, he told him "Yeah, sorry, I overslept."

"It's four thirty in the afternoon,  ha-ha. Are you still coming in? Tours are running 'till six, you can probably still make one. You should come, I want you to meet my college friends."

There wasn't a hint of resentment in Bossuet's tone, which only made him feel worse.

"Aren't you mad at me?"

"Nah, R. I wanna see you."

Grantaire's head hurt.

"Yeah. Sorry, I'm… Not gonna make it. But I'll be there when classes start." Before he could take it back he added, "Promise." And snapped his phone shut, pushing down the guilt. 

It took a long time to heave himself up from where he sat. Eventually, he shuffled over to the bathroom and shut the door firmly before throwing up in the toilet. He slumped onto the ground and sat there breathing for a while, before getting up and dragging himself over to the sink. With a grimace he examined himself in the cabinet mirror, ignoring the heavy bags under his eyes and utter wrecked look he was rocking in favour of examining his injury. There was a small cut on his temple, and the start of a bruise blooming from it, and dried blood smeared along his cheek. When wiped away, the cut was even smaller than he'd thought. He knew he should still go to the ER. He probably had a concussion, or worse, but obviously he wasn't going to do that. He got in the shower, keeping the water too hot and staying there too long, then he got out, got dressed, and carefully took two painkillers.

Last night had been really bad. The last two years had been really bad, but he had thought he was clawing himself back up. He was back in Paris. He was going to art school. But the little scratch on his head was going to stick around and remind him that he was still the same mess after all, and the cut would probably be the thing to heal long before he did.

He went to the living room. Sat on the couch like a normal person would sit. Turned on the T.V. for ambient noise. Eventually he pulled out his sketchbook, and drew flowers until late into the night, when he felt tired enough to sleep.

As orientation week went by, Grantaire barely left his apartment. The days passed mostly in a daze, as he waited: To make a decision. For something to happen that would decide for him. He wasn't sure yet. When classes finally started, miraculously, Grantaire showed up on campus. Late, hungover, and - having skipped orientation week - ridiculously lost, but still definitely present.

He speed-walked down Main Avenue, trying to reconcile his surroundings to the completely contradictory map he was holding, when a megaphoned voice cut through his panicked inner monologue and made him freeze. Somewhere on campus, bells began to chime, signifying he was officially late to his first lecture, but that had ceased to matter as Grantaire listened to a far more compelling peal.

"Open your eyes. Look around you. Something is deeply wrong with the world."

Nobody's voice sounded good through a megaphone, but something about this man's words seemed to latch onto Grantaire's heart, where he had thought there was only a rotting corpse left. He searched through the throng of students to find its source, eventually coming to the front of a small crowd gathered around the demonstration. Most of the campus's societies had packed up after orientation week, but a few lingered along Main Avenue, still recruiting. This man seemed to be part of one of the University's social justice groups. Traditionally one of the less popular societies, there was nonetheless a significant crowd gathered just to hear this man speak.

"10% of the buildings on our campus still aren't fully accessible. Despite the technology being installed, 30% of all courses still won't upload their lectures to be available online. It's time to demand better, from our lecturers, from our university, from our legislators. What are you waiting for?"

Without realising, he'd stopped right in front of the man, who respectfully put down his megaphone and picked up the clipboard that hung around his neck, waiting.

"Uh-"

"Sign our petition?"

Grantaire stared at him a few seconds before his brain reconnected, and he scoffed, "Petition-"

"For accessibility rights? You were listening to what I was saying, right? I mean, you were staring and you came over here, so-"

"You really think a petition is going to achieve anything?"

"I think this one will, yes. We're just 200 signatures shy of 1000, and once we reach a thousand the dean has to issue a response publicly, and our demands are so reasonable it would be a PR disaster for him to come down against us. So yes, I think this petition in particular will be able to make the lives of our students a little bit better. So if you could sign right here." The blond gestured with his pen.

Grantaire was struck speechless. He wasn't sure that had ever happened before.

The blond stared expectantly at him, tapping his pen against the clipboard. "Do you want to sign?"

"I want to-"

He couldn't say it out loud-- it was-. It wouldn't come out right. But inside the words reverberated in his brain.

This naïve little speech spoken by a naïve little college student had made Grantaire realise he wasn't truly extinguished after all. That somewhere inside him, a spark waited.

He did, after all, still want to live.

He must have been silent for a while. The other man prompted him "Uh, are you okay?"

Grantaire signed the petition, and the blond man moved on to his next target. 

* * *

 

_\- 2017 -_

Grantaire's cheek is sticking to the bar floor.

"Behold! The world's shittiest time machine!" It's awkward ranting on the floor, but he makes it work. "Able to traverse the depths of years, in mere seconds. Powered by the hopes and dreams of children everywhere. A fossil fuel - burnt up and leaking the pollutants of failure and despair, and the key to all goodness on Earth."

He can't see if anyone's listening - if anyone is even around - from where he lays on the gritty, grimy floor, but the words spill out anyway, and he stops listening to himself as his thoughts drift elsewhere.

It's been a few weeks since his accident - that simple trip down the stairs that had knocked away the past six years of his memory - and though Grantaire had come to accept that somehow in this future he'd found happiness, that knowledge wasn't enough to slip himself back into a life he didn't remember making for himself.

Somehow in those six years he had become a dependable, supportive husband, as well as a world-renowned painter with his very own gallery. If you'd asked him six years ago both of those things would have seemed equally unattainable. And now, they were beginning to feel just as impossible to maintain. He knew somewhere in his brain was the knowledge of how to fix things, but he could no more access it than his memories. Or his inspiration. His talent. And now, his sobriety.

He tells the grit of the floor, "And what a fine, fine future it is. Where the wine is bitter, and the house is empty, and the rains are soft. Fuck me, Ray Bradbury, watch me time travel myself to breakfast." Grantaire declares, to nobody, and falls promptly asleep.

***

A gentle kick to the side wakes him up, some lost time later. Grantaire pulls himself up into a sitting position, the room spinning around him, no fun at all.

"Eponine," He looks up at the looming figure of dark fury above him. "My love. What brings you down the hole where spirits and mortals lie?"

"I got your text. It took me twenty minutes to decode it, the Haunted Cellar my ass. What the fuck, R?"

"Drinking is what I'm supposed to be doing. I'm twenty-one." He says to the floor.

Eponine crouches next to him. "No. You're not."

"No, I'm not."

Eponine pulls him up so he's standing, and the room goes wild.

"I'm going to be sick."

"Don't you dare. These are my favourite shoes." But Eponine's words are undermined by the gentle circles she's rubbing into his back. "Let's get you home."

"Home, she says. We cannot go home. We can never go home. We must move forwards not backwards. Upwards, not forwards. And always twirling…" Grantaire's vision goes blurry, before he snaps his head up with hopeful eyes. "Hey, you want to do some shots?"

Eponine's glare sends shivers down his spine.

He grabs her collar to whisper conspiratorially in her ear, "Be nice to me, I have a brain injury."

Eponine shoves him away, but wraps an arm around his middle to start guiding him towards the door.

"Clearly." He hears her mutter, but her shoulder is the perfect height to slump against, and he's already half asleep when he closes his eyes once more.

The next thing he knows he's in bed. A bed, not his bed, thirteen embroidered pillows cocooning him. He glances over at the retreating blur beside him and calls out.

"Hey, hey, hey. Eponine. Is that you?"

She pauses in the doorway. "What is it, 'Taire?"

He grins dopily up at her. "Thanks for coming to get me. Did you know you're carved from love?"

Eponine sighs, but her tone hints at fondness as she responds, "Just go to sleep, doofus."

"Hey, hey, Eponine." Grantaire calls again, lying back down and settling in to the pillows. He forgets he called her back until she steps back over to him and pokes him in the side.

"R, what?"

"Oh, yeah." He smiles up at her. "I have to tell you. The past, present, and future walk into a bar. Things get a little tense."

Eponine rolls her eyes and groans, turning back towards the door. "I'm going to fucking kill you in the morning."

She walks out, leaving the door slightly ajar, the hallway light spilling in. Grantaire grins, and goes to sleep once more.

***

It turns out, it's hard to adjust to life when you're recovering from amnesia. Or maybe Grantaire is just exceptionally bad at it. His plan has certainly failed.

His plan had been this: to follow his old routine and wait for the memories to return.

The first problem he encountered was how long to wait. Forever? He couldn't shake the thought that he was never going to get better, and was going to spend the rest of his life waiting.

But the biggest problem had been that no one - not Enjolras, not Eponine, nor any of his friends - seemed to know what he did with his days. Even worse, no one knew where his art came from. Eponine had showed him the studio attached to the gallery, but also told him she hardly ever found him there. That instead, art would appear, every once in a while, and Grantaire would outline to her what he wanted their next exhibition to look like. Enjolras had even less to offer. ("Uh- I think you paint some days? There's some paints in the study. And one of those… wooden holder things," "An easel?" "That's the word! Thanks.")

Let alone where he was supposed to get his ideas?, the process of going from a blank canvas to an actual (ridiculously overpriced) artwork? - Everyone knew as much as he now did: Nothing.

A week ago, Eponine had sat him down to talk about the future of the gallery. The version of the future where his memories never came back. The blank canvas future.

That was the night he'd gone home with a bottle of wine, and a text from Enjolras, saying he'd be home late. He'd stopped at one glass that night. Just to make sure he could. Shiraz, 2013. He told himself it didn't count, since that year wasn't even real to him yet. But he'd kept the bottle. And last night he'd gone back to it, and finished it off, before moving to the Haunted Cellar and the stronger stuff.

But still, it was just a slip-up. Just a blip.

And the memories would probably come back soon, anyway, and he wouldn't have to worry anymore.

***

He wakes up the next morning and promises himself he's never going to take another sip of alcohol. Hangovers at twenty seven are significantly worse than at twenty. He shakes his head a little to try and clear the fog of his thoughts, and pain rushes in, his eyes swimming and temple throbbing.

It's early, and he wonders if he can't just go back to sleep, put off facing the day a little longer, but Eponine is banging pots and dishes and stomping up and down the hall outside his door, in what Grantaire eventually realises can only be intentional, so with a grunt, he gets up.

She's waiting for him in the kitchen. "Oh, you're up?"

"I didn't think you were the passive aggressive type."

"Actually, I'm the 'whatever type of aggressive necessary' type. Here." She hands him a cup of coffee. "So, do you want to talk about last night?"

Grantaire doesn't answer until he's downed half his cup. "Not really."

"All right."

Blessedly, Eponine doesn't say anything else. For now, she lets him finish his coffee in silence, sitting quietly with him. Eventually she sighs, getting up to put their mugs in the sink.

"Do you want anything to eat?"

He groans, a wave of nausea making itself known.

"Okay. Well, I have to go to work. I can drop you home on my way."

He checks the clock on her oven. 8.30. Enjolras will have left for work already. _Enjolras. Shit._ He fumbles through his pockets for his phone, alarmed to find them empty.

"I put your shit on the dresser," Eponine gestures, "I thought it would be more comfortable to sleep. And I texted Enjolras last night so he'd know where you were."

"What did you tell him?"

"Just that we were hanging out and it got late. I'm not a snitch." Eponine stares at him. "But, you should tell him the truth."

Grantaire goes silent.

"Can you at least tell me what last night was about?"

He grimaces. "I thought I would try and recreate the head injury. See if the two of them would cancel each other out."

"Right, because that makes perfect sense. What the fuck, R? You weren't drunk when you had your accident, anyway."

"Really? That's now how I remember it."

Eponine goes still. "What?-"

"No, I didn't mean- I don't remember anything- It's complicated. Just, can you please not say anything to anyone, please."

"This is serious, R. If you're drinking again-"

"It was just a slip up. A one-time thing, promise."

Eponine looks like she wants to say more, but she seems to lose the fight within her brain, an internal shrug. Without a word, she starts gathering her stuff, as Grantaire refills his pockets: phone, keys, wallet, before he follows her out the door.

***

When Eponine drops him home, the apartment is oppressively quiet. He wanders into the kitchen in search of water and more coffee, starting up the machine and hunting around the cabinets for painkillers. There's a note left for him on the fridge: _Hope you had fun last night, love you! - E :)_

Grantaire tears it down, feeling utterly unworthy.

He isn't able to wallow like he wants to; after showering and making a cup of tea he's barely sat down to his favourite reality show when he hears the click of the front door unlocking and the scuttle  of footsteps through the kitchen.

"'Taire!!!!!" Joly and Bossuet cry in unison, and Grantaire tries not to flinch at the noise.

"Let me guess - Eponine called you?"

"It's my day off!" Joly declares, "The first all month, and Ep mentioned you weren't doing anything today, so guess what?"

"Please, no." Grantaire says, at the same time Bossuet announces "We're going to the aquarium!"

Grantaire buries his head in one of the couch cushions, but he can't actually explain he's hungover without explaining he's _hungover_. He curses Eponine, and Poseidon, and Mnemosyne for good measure, and lets Bossuet pull him off of the couch.

"It'll be great. Think of all the fish you won't remember seeing. It'll be like getting to meet them for the first time all over again!"

"Yay? Wait, how often do we go to the aquarium?"

Joly hums as he thinks about it, then Bossuet and Joly sing in unison "As often as we need to." and stare at him expectantly. Grantaire blinks.

"That's going to be so funny when you get your memories back." Bossuet tells him, as the two of them start ushering him out the door. 

***

Grantaire remembers the fucking fish. Of all the things...

The three of them are lying on the floor of the shark tunnel. The aquarium is mostly deserted today, so despite the few odd looks they're garnering they're not in anybody's way. For some reason, their conversation has gotten deep, and it makes Grantaire feel peculiar. Friends, as he knows them, were for shooting hoops and doing shots with. You weren't supposed to have deep and meaningful conversations, and share your life and your fears with them. Who does that?

"Enjolras isn't sleeping." Grantaire tells them.

"Oh, yeah. He's like that sometimes." Bossuet confirms. "When he's stressed at work. Which this week he would be."

But Grantaire isn't convinced. He's sure it's really about him. He lets out a sigh that rings out into the echoing aquarium chamber, and there's another stretch of silence before Bossuet breaks it.

"Guys, what should I do with my life?"

Joly rolls over a bit to ask him "How do you feel about house-husband?"

"...Tentative."

A manta ray floats above them.

"What if I'm not cut out to be a doctor?"

Grantaire snorts. "You were only my doctor for about five minutes, and I could tell it's what you're meant to do. You're going to be great."

"Thanks, 'Taire." Joly says, but Grantaire wonders if his words could possibly have had any effect. They wouldn't have, if it were him. But then, Grantaire has to accept, his brain probably isn't like normal people's. For example:

Grantaire confesses "I've started drinking again."

"Oh, honey."

Joly and Bossuet shuffle over so they can hug him.

"Oh look," Grantaire cries out, staring up at the tank, looking for a distraction and seeing the recognisable three pronged white stripe. "It's Hector! The polyamorous clownfish."

Joly and Bossuet turn to stare at him.

"What? Oh, shit." Grantaire plies himself off the floor. Joly and Bossuet get up with him and hug him properly.

"You remembered!"

"What else?"

Grantaire thinks about it, and his mind is a whirlpool of ridiculous fish hijinks. It probably says something about him that the first thing he manages to remember after all this time is the silly little stories the three of them would come up with at the aquarium.

"It's just fish. Why does it have to be fish? I can't even remember the first time I met Joly? - I can't even remember getting married, but I remember a seahorse commitment ceremony?? Oh my God, stop that."

Bossuet and Joly have started dancing around him, letting out whoops of excitement.

"This is so exciting, R. It's a big step, we need to celebrate!"

"Guys, come on. Cut it out... Hey, let's go check on Edmund, the kleptomaniac octopus, yeah?"

***

"I am way too sober for this." Grantaire says, and Bossuet and Joly can only nod as they watch a piece of coral transform back into a cuttlefish and devour half a crab.

They've sat down to watch a video demonstration when Grantaire's phone starts singing from his pocket, and he gestures to Joly and Bossuet, who wave him off before staring back at the cuttlefish as it transforms once again, and ducks out of the room.

"City morgue," Grantaire says automatically, as he answers Enjolras's call.

"You know," Enjolras sounds tired, but Grantaire thinks he can detect a hint of amusement in his tone. "That really isn't funny anymore."

"Ah, so you once found it funny!"

"Your memories still aren't back, huh."

Grantaire grins. "Nah, I didn't know I'd used that one on you before. Always a classic, though."

He can feel Enjolras's eye-roll through the phone.

"If you say so. I missed you last night."

"I-… Yeah?"

"Yeah. How's Eponine?"

"She's… good."

Enjolras waits a few seconds before adding "Well, I called to see if you wanted to get dinner tonight? Just the two of us?"

Grantaire's first thought is that Enjolras knows, and his skin goes cold and he can feel himself start to sweat. So naturally, his instinct is to make a joke.

"Shit, it's some anniversary tonight that I've forgotten. The first time I held your hand? The first time you bought me flowers? The first time our noses brushed together as we ate spaghetti and meatballs?"

"Come to think of it, it might be that last one."

Grantaire can hear Enjolras smiling through the phone, and something in him relaxes.

Enjolras adds "We could go to that Japanese place you like. Well, you liked it before. I guess we haven't been there since-"

"Nah, that sounds fine. Did you want to meet there?"

"I can pick you up at the gallery, if you want."

"Uh…" Grantaire scrounges up an excuse, not wanting Enjolras to know he hasn't been to the gallery all week. "I'll probably be finished before you. Why don't we meet at the firm?"

"Yeah, all right. Is six okay?"

"Sure, I'll see you then."

"I can't wait." Enjolras sounds perfectly earnest, and he waits for Grantaire to hang up the phone, a move designed to make Grantaire feel like he's been punched in the gut. He wonders if he's imagining the judgement coming from the angelfish in front of him.

***

"Hi, R!" The receptionist greets him from the lobby of Enjolras's office, and he tries not to be too obvious as he glances down at her name placard.

"Hi, Jeanette. How…" He tries to think of some detail about her, to no avail. "… are things?"

"Busy, as always. Enjolras is still working, of course." She laughs. "You go on in, I'm sure he'll be glad to see you."

He turns to face the corridor, and Jeanette adds as an afterthought "The door at the very end, to the left."

Enjolras is in one of the meeting rooms, the big glass windows letting Grantaire see he's seemingly alone, the door cracked open enough to hear him talking to someone, and he hovers by the door to listen. He seems to be giving some sort of speech, and Grantaire is quickly transfixed.

Enjolras has always been passionate. He couldn't order take-out without it sounding like he was recruiting for a noble quest, but this is something else. The Enjolras that Grantaire has been learning is sweet and hesitant, undemanding, who leaves smiley faces on post it notes wishing Grantaire a good day. Watching Enjolras at work… He's unbelievable. Miraculous. An Angel in the truest sense, all fire and vengeance and justice and Grantaire quickly feels consumed by his words.

It's also unbelievably hot.

When Enjolras sees Grantaire he blushes, transformed, and mumbles a sweet hello as greeting.

"Hey" Grantaire pushes the door open and comes inside, shutting it behind him, and pecking a kiss on Enjolras's cheek.

"You're early." Enjolras tells him, but his hands fly up to Grantaire's waist.

"What was that you were saying?"

Enjolras looks confused for a second, but then realises "Oh, those were my opening remarks for the trial next week. It's still in early stages…"

"Can I hear the rest?"

"You want to hear it?"

Grantaire looks at him, incredulous. "Of course I do."

"Okay. This is still rough, though."

Enjolras finishes the last five minutes of his speech. It takes a significant amount of brainpower for Grantaire to work out what he's actually talking about, beyond the vague hatred for corporate greed, and the importance of worker's rights. Jondrette Family Enterprises = bad, he figures that much.

When Enjolras finishes he turns to Grantaire, uncharacteristically hesitant, to ask "What do you think?"

Grantaire kisses him. "I think you're amazing."

"You don't have any notes?"

"Oh, plenty." Grantaire grins at him, devilish. "Do you have a written copy I can look at?"

It's another forty-five minutes before they end up leaving for dinner, when Enjolras finally notices the time.

"Shit, we're going to miss our reservation, come on."

He doesn't bother packing up, just grabs his coat and Grantaire's hand and tows him out the door, outside and into a cab.

Despite being only a Thursday night, the place Enjolras takes him to is packed. The table he reserved is way in the back, tucked out of sight and with a perfect view of the shady alley down below. Enjolras seems distracted from the minute they arrive, staring out the window and not responding to their waitresses drinks request.

"Just water, is fine." Grantaire replies for the two of them, and Enjolras finally looks up. He smiles over at Grantaire, and bumps his foot against him, from across the table.

"How was your day? Did you do some art?"

Grantaire knows that just from sheer proximity to himself, Enjolras must know more about art than he lets on, but he's actually kind of adorable in his seeming ignorance. Grantaire would probably appreciate it more if his question didn't stab him a little.

"Nah, I haven't really painted in a while. I don't know. But I went to the aquarium today."

"Really?"

"Yeah. It was Joly's day off. He and Lesgle surprised me this morning."

"That sounds nice."

Enjolras goes back to staring out the window, but his foot brushes Grantaire's again, under the table. They sit like that silently for a few minutes before Grantaire breaks it.

"Well, how was your day?"

"It was good." Enjolras says, and Grantaire waits for him to go on, but Enjolras is still staring out the window.

"Um…"

Enjolras doesn’t seem to be mad at him, or unhappy to be here. Grantaire can't work out why he's acting so strange. He wishes he could just _remember_.

"Can I talk to you about something?"

Enjolras's eyes snap back to him. "Of course. Anything."

Grantaire's thinks _I'm worried about you why aren't you sleeping at night is it something I've done am I supposed to do something what if I never paint again are you going to be disappointed in me are you already disappointed in me would you mind terribly if I ordered a glass of wine right now??????????_

"Uh, well." What Grantaire actually ends up saying is, "I remembered the fish."

"What?"

"Today, at the aquarium. I mean, it's probably nothing. Nothing to get excited about, but Joly, Bossuet, and I used to tell stories about these fish, and today I recognised them. I know it's not much, but at least it's something, after all this time, and-"

Enjolras beams at him across the table.

"You remembered?"

"I mean, I wouldn't assume it means anything. And it's such a silly thing after-"

"No, this is great! We should celebrate!"

"… I- I guess." Grantaire slumps a little, and quickly changes the subject. "Isn't that what we're doing now? Why did you want to go out tonight?"

"Well, mostly I just missed you. I know I've been working a lot lately."

"Yeah, I, uh, noticed."

"And I'm sorry. This lawsuit has kind of got me in a weird space at the moment, but I want you to know I'm still here for you. And it won't be long now until the trial is over."

Grantaire still can’t believe him, but he smiles softly at Enjolras anyway.

"Okay."

"Actually, we made a big break in the case today - one of my colleagues uncovered some documents that are going to make a huge difference, so I probably won't need to work quite so late anymore."

"I'm glad."

Enjolras goes back to staring out the window, eventually pulling out his phone and typing intermittently.

Their water arrives then, and after a few more minutes of silence eventually Grantaire asks, thinking of their phone call, "So, when was the first time we held hands?"

Enjolras doesn't have to think about it long. "It was when I first asked you out. I was too shy to kiss you, but I didn't want to just leave, so I grabbed your hand instead."

That is ridiculously adorable. Grantaire tries to imagine it.

Enjolras continues, "We'd known each other at least a year by then, and you'd been flirting with me since we met, but I was still too shy. You said yes, by the way. To the date. Eventually."

"Eventually?"

"Yeah, you were a little… surprised."

Grantaire thinks about it. It's easy to imagine how he was feeling, but there's something else too, clinging to his imagination. Something that makes him say "I was shocked. I couldn't believe it."

Enjolras's eyes widen. "Did you..?"

"Just, like, a flash. A feeling. I think… we were at my apartment. God, that place was a crap heap. And it was so early in the morning."

If he wasn't motivated before to get his memories back, he would be now. Enjolras's smile is the picture perfect definition of positive reinforcement.

"Yeah. It was." Enjolras confirms. "I hadn't wanted to wait any longer."

Oh. Part of Grantaire wonders how he functioned before, constantly carrying the weight of such memories.

"Well, you know, I'm really glad you asked."

"Yeah?"

It's mostly rhetorical, Grantaire can tell, but he's still floored by the idea Enjolras could ever doubt how much Grantaire loves him.

"So," Grantaire says, finally turning to his menu, "What's good here?"

Enjolras looks at him and raises his eyebrows, his foot creeping higher. Grantaire snorts.

Enjolras does eventually answer him, taking Grantaire through his old favourites, and for a while Grantaire can forget that he's forgotten anything at all.

***

When he wakes up the next morning, Enjolras is already gone (there's another post-it on his nightstand) but there's a text message on his phone from Eponine that gets him out of bed:

_R, could you come by the gallery when you get a chance. Need to talk._

Which sounds really fucking ominous. He spends most of the morning procrastinating. Tidies up the apartment (though he stays clear of the mess of papers Enjolras has left on the dining room table), does a load of laundry, brushes out Eros's fur, until finally he texts Eponine to let her know he'll be there in an hour and heads for the gallery.

When he walks through the door, it's someone different working front of desk, and Grantaire tries his hardest to recognise them. Luckily he doesn't need to make conversation.

"Oh good, you're here. Eponine's in her office." They tell him, relieved, and Grantaire waves at them awkwardly before striding up the stairs. He knocks, then nudges her door open - halfway, because it gets stuck. There's five large boxes stacked in the already crowded space of Eponine's office.

Eponine's head pokes around the side; she's too short to see over them.

"What is this?"

"Packing peanuts." Eponine stares at him. "I've looked through three of them already to see if they're actually packing something, but no. Just packing peanuts. Five boxes of them."

"Oh. Why?"

Eponine glares at him.

"These are…"

"Yours, yes. You must have ordered them a few weeks ago. They came by courier this morning. So, R, what the fuck?"

"Hell if I know. Did I want to pack something?"

"It's doubtful - I probably would have known it if you had. You do this sometimes - order things without bothering to tell me, and usually it's some obscure thing for your art."

"I'm supposed to… make art out of this?" As if painting wasn't hard enough, now he had to find a way to make little pieces of foam compelling?

"You can do whatever you want, just _get them out of my office._ "

He spends the rest of the day in his studio at the gallery making little sculptures out of the packing peanuts, and throwing them at people to mess with them. He doesn't know what he originally had planned for them, and he doesn't care. Fuck the past - future? - Grantaire, he'll do what he wants. They're his peanuts now.

When he gets home that evening, Enjolras is already there, cooking dinner.

"I made pasta,"

"You're home early." Grantaire can't help the way his face lights up, hugging Enjolras from behind.

Enjolras swings around in his arms, spatula still in hand, and shrugs. "It's Friday."

"It was Friday last week when you came home at midnight."

"Well, I told you yesterday. There was a break in my case. Can you stir that for me?"

They eat dinner in front of the T.V., the dining room table still a disaster zone - Enjolras's work tends to seep out onto every available surface nearby. Halfway through dinner, Enjolras leans over and pulls a piece of foam out of Grantaire's hair. He gets a very confused, very adorable look on his face.

"Oh, Eponine and I were having a war with them earlier."

Enjolras rolls his eyes, and informs him "You know these aren't biodegradable?"

Grantaire weighs the possibility that he ordered five boxes of the things for the sole purpose of annoying Enjolras. Was he really that petty? (Yes.)

"Did you get any painting done today?" Enjolras asks him.

"...No."

Enjolras softens, probably understanding how much Grantaire's been panicking about this. "You don't have to. You don't have to ever paint again. We'll still be fine. I'll take on more paying clients and you can take up beekeeping or hula hooping or any one of the twelve remaining hobbies you haven't tried yet."

Grantaire doesn't know what to say to that. He doesn't deserve such kindness. He takes a large bite of his pasta so he won't have to speak.

Enjolras waits until he's finished eating to say, softly,  "You could…"

Grantaire looks up from his bowl. "What?"

"If you're having trouble with inspiration, you could always-" Enjolras pauses again. "You could draw me."

He looks so embarrassed that Grantaire is sure he's keeping the blush off his face by sheer force of will.

"You used to-" Enjolras continues, "Before, sometimes. You said it used to help. I'm not being presumptuous - you've told me before that it helps you with inspiration."

"Do you want me to draw you, Enjolras? Draw you like one of my French girls?"

"Never heard that one before." Enjolras rolls his eyes, but he leans into him on the couch, his foot brushing Grantaire's leg, fondly.

Grantaire tries to imagine it - Enjolras posing for him. He can't help himself - he leans into Enjolras's touch to say "I can't believe I've ever had the self-control necessary for that. To watch you modelling and not touch you..."

Enjolras raises his eyebrows. "That was always more my problem."

Grantaire stares at him, unable to keep his blush away. And then the power goes out.

"Shit." Enjolras hisses. They’re plunged into darkness while the television screen, long forgotten, makes a pinging noise and fades away.

Grantaire says in the darkness, "We are living in the future."

"I might have forgotten to pay the phone bill." Enjolras confesses.

"You're not implying it was my responsibility?" Grantaire asks, the idea preposterous. He could hardly remember to put pants on everyday.

Enjolras hums. "Well, between the two of us, we could usually remember. I've been a bit distracted lately."

"Oh really?"

"Still they shouldn't have- Let me call them."

Enjolras pulls out his phone, the light of it the sole source in the room, as he looks up the number for the electricity company. When the line connects, unable to see in the dark, he listens to Enjolras's voice slip into Avenging Angel mode. Grantaire could listen to Enjolras argue with the electric company all night. Something about the spark of his voice manages to light up the dark room, and for the first time since he woke up Grantaire knows what he wants to paint.

Of course not even Enjolras's righteous fury can get an electricity company to cooperate on a Friday night. It's almost amusing to see Enjolras battle with the unrelenting, unfeeling voice of bureaucracy. Though Grantaire can't quite see his face, there's enough negative energy radiating off of Enjolras as he hangs up that Grantaire is sure he wants to throw his phone across the room. Instead he sighs, and unclenches his grip.

Enjolras tells him "I'll try calling them again tomorrow morning."

Carefully, Grantaire sets his bowl down on the coffee table and leans back against the couch. "So, no electricity, huh. Whatever will we do with our night?"

Though Enjolras can't see Grantaire's batting eyelashes in the dark, he understands him perfectly. Enjolras nearly pokes him in the eye, as he brings up his hand to find his face, and brings Grantaire in to kiss.

He has six years of this to make up for, and that is a task he could jump to with enthusiasm. He feels around the couch to grip Enjolras's waist, and nearly knocks Enjolras's head into the counter table in the darkness, as they slowly become horizontal. Despite not being able to see what he's doing, he manages to unhook all the buttons of Enjolras's shirt, and is slowly working his pants off, as he kisses down his chest.

Grantaire tells him, between kisses "I don't think I'll ever get tired of re-learning your body."

"Hmmm… Maybe we should test that out."

***

Music, for whatever reason, is the next thing to come back.

" _Pour garder le sourire je me disais qu'y a pire, si c'est comme ça, bah fuck la vie d'artiste"_ Grantaire sings absently in the shower the next morning, the hot water a relief on his tired muscles, still sore from last night. At some point Eros pushes the door open and starts meowing, and he sings along with him.

He nearly recreates his head injury when he notices Enjolras, who has slipped into the bathroom, as well.

"Ack!" Grantaire straightens back up using one of the taps. "You scared me. Did I wake you? Sorry-"

"No, don't be! I love listening to you sing."

Grantaire feels grateful the shower curtain conceals the smile that slips onto his face at Enjolras's words. He's far too self conscious to keep singing after that, and he's about to switch off the tap and get out when Enjolras steps up behind him in the shower, and he can hardly be expected to leave now.

Enjolras smiles at him. "Good morning."

"Good morning."

"Can you turn the heat up a little?"

Grantaire switches places with him instead, letting Enjolras control the taps, and he can't help but kiss his bare shoulder as he passes.

Enjolras freezes.

"Wait, what were you singing?"

"Yeah, I know, a little dark for a Saturday morning-" Grantaire starts.

"Yes, I'm well acquainted with your terrible taste in music, but- That song came out in 2013."

Grantaire blinks.

"Didn't it?" Enjolras stares at him, waiting.

"Yeah. I guess it did."

Enjolras kisses him again. "Sing to me."

Grantaire blushes, and looks away, but he can't say no to him. He finishes his song, even softer, slightly under his breath. Sometimes he's terrified by the power Enjolras seems to have over him.

 

At Feuilly's BBQ that afternoon, all of his friends have fun coming up with singalongs for him. He remembers Maître Gims and Gangnam style, but not Adele. Grantaire still feels like it's false hope, but for once he keeps his mouth shut about it. The food is amazing, the singing terrible. It's sort of a perfect Saturday afternoon, if only Grantaire could stop his eyes from lingering on the bottles of beer and glasses of wine that scatter the room.

The power's back on by the time they come home from Feuilly's. Grantaire is about to comment on it, when he turns down the hallway and finds Eponine sitting at their dining table, her face inscrutable. She wasn't at the BBQ today, Cosette mentioned something about a family commitment.

When Enjolras turns into the room and sees her he freezes, the smile that had lingered on his face from some stupid joke Grantaire had been telling slips away.

"Shit." Enjolras mutters, avoiding Eponine's glare.

Eponine gets up when she sees them, and leans against the table, her arms folded in front of her.

"Hey," Grantaire says, "What's up? How long have you been here?"

"About an hour. I had to get out of the house."

"Well you know you're always welcome here." Enjolras offers, crossing the room to straighten some chairs and almost managing to get his face to look normal. Eponine continues to glare, and Grantaire hasn't felt this out of the loop since he first woke up after the accident.

"So, Gavroche finally came home for Toussaint Break. It's almost like he's been avoiding me. You'll never guess why. Enjolras."

Enjolras doesn't say anything. Doesn't look up, yet. Eventually he turns to her, thinking his words out carefully.

"Gavroche is eighteen, and this is his fight too. I won't take that decision away from him."

"Because eighteen year olds are so great at risk assessment. You're putting him in danger."

"He wants to fight for what's right."

"And this is the way to do it. You always think your way is the only way to be a good person. And he worships you, he always has."

"You think I don't know the danger here? I do. I- This is my family too. Gavroche is my-"

"-Don't. Don't you fucking dare. Back off, Enjolras. I'm telling you, right now. Back off."

Enjolras doesn't. He shoves a chair slightly, then turns properly to face Eponine, crossing his own arms. "We'll probably never see criminal charges brought against them, let alone child neglect. But we can hit where it hurts. Gavroche can do this. He deserves his day in court."

"He deserves to be safe!" Eponine glares at him, and the seconds seem to tick by where Grantaire doesn't know what's going to happen. He also doesn't now what's happening, but he very much hates it.

Eponine is the first one to turn away. She looks at Grantaire.

"Have you told him yet?"

He shakes his head, barely perceptible. Eponine storms out, slamming the front door as she goes.

"Told me what?"

And Grantaire is not going to be side tracked, especially not by _that_ topic.

"What was that about? Gavroche?"

"Eponine's brother... Her parents are the defendants in the suit I'm pursuing. Gavroche is one of the witnesses."

"And you neglected to tell me this because…"

"I honestly forgot you wouldn't know, OK? I've been talking the case over with you for months."

"What did she mean in danger? What's going on?"

Enjolras tells him "It's just a simple labour dispute case, OK. No one is in danger. Eponine is just paranoid."

"Why should she be paranoid, Enjolras?"

"...The Thenardiers- Eponine's parents, they may have a bit of a reputation for not letting things go, and for… unconventional methods of retaliation."

Grantaire exhales. He feels faint. "You would really do that? Put a child at risk."

"He isn't a child."

But Grantaire suddenly connects _Gavroche._ It's the most he's managed to remember so far, but that fact is overshadowed by the stab of pain in his chest as he thinks about Eponine's baby brother, who he used to watch on days Eponine couldn't miss a lecture, who used to be so excited to show Grantaire his drawings, and mock his music taste relentlessly, who Enjolras is apparently perfectly okay with risking, for the sake of a mere law suit.

"I can't believe this. I can't believe you would do this. I-" Grantaire takes a breath. He feels like his lungs are collapsing.

"He wants to testify. Eponine is overreacting. Everything's going to be fine. Everyone is going to be fine. And this is important. I had thought you understood that."

Grantaire blinks. "Right. Okay. I need to be away from you right now." He walks out. Enjolras doesn't follow him.

He finds Eponine outside, sitting on their front porch, head in her hands, and he sits down next to her.

"I thought you'd be long gone by now."

"Why is he so impossibly stubborn?"

"Enjolras?"

She sighs. "I meant Gavroche. Although that might be the answer. I guess what Enjolras is always saying about the importance of positive role models growing up might have some merit."

Grantaire nudges her lightly with his shoulder. "I think Gav had plenty of positive role models, sitting right next to me."

Eponine leans against him, and it's the most emotion he's ever seen from her.

"I'm so scared for him."

He puts his arm around her and they sit like that for a while. Eventually Eponine gets up, and he walks her to the train station.

He buys a sketchbook and spends the rest of the day in the park.

When he gets home Enjolras isn't there. 

***

Grantaire and Enjolras spend the rest of the weekend avoiding each other. When Jehan texts him to see if he wants to go to a poetry slam, Grantaire agrees. It's even worse than he expected, but still better than being alone.

It takes an eternity for Monday morning to arrive. Grantaire had thought it would feel like a relief, but when he's faced with directing his own days again everything goes back to feeling huge and heavy and loud, and all he wants to do is turn his mind off. Maybe go back to sleep until it's Saturday once more.

Instead, he has coffee with Cosette. She's the only other person he still has memories of: they'd lived next door to each other for a while, growing up. When she'd moved away he'd thought he'd never see her again, but had been delighted to discover they'd met once more as adults and renewed their friendship.

It's amazing to see how far she's come. She had been just as messed up as he had in high school, but somehow they'd both pulled through. He's unspeakably proud of her.

Cosette teaches him to make a tarte Tatin.

"I've taught you this once already," she laughs, "But you can always use the practise."

He feels better, for a while, but when he's leaving she tells him "Make sure to save some for Enjolras. He's a sucker for it."

When he gets home he thinks briefly about eating the whole thing out of spite. Instead, he goes back to bed. He's not even that tired, but he goes back to bed anyway, and doesn't get up until 19:00 when his phone pings: Enjolras letting him know he'll be home late, again.

He gets up and makes some food: a fried egg and some toast, which he eats standing up in the kitchen, and a piece of the tart, and then he goes back to bed again.

He's still awake when Enjolras finally joins him, late in the night, and presses his cold feet against Grantaire's shins, and Grantaire yelps, flinching away.

"I'm really going to kill you for that one of these days." He warns, his mind flooded with images of different nights, even colder feet pressing against his own, Enjolras hogging covers, pushing Grantaire out of bed in his sleep.

"You remember-?"

"That you're an asshole? Yeah."

"Well, that's something."

Grantaire snorts, wrapping Enjolras in his arms to warm him up. "It's the little things."

"I'm so tired." Enjolras whispers against his collarbone.

It must be true. Grantaire is sure that otherwise Enjolras would be making a big deal of him remembering what a jerk Enjolras could be in bed. And now that he's thinking about it, what a jerk Enjolras could be out of bed.

After a while Enjolras says in the darkness "Are you still mad at me?"

Grantaire sighs.

"No." He breathes out, his hand coming up to stroke Enjolras's hair. Enjolras buries his face in Grantaire's neck, breathing him in.

Grantaire lets them lie like that for a while before he whispers. "It's not just Gavroche, is it? You're all in danger… Enjolras. Don't think we're not having this conversation." But Enjolras is already dead to the world. He must have been even more tired than Grantaire thought.  Grantaire's arms tighten fractionally around him, as though he could ever be any sort of protection for Enjolras, against the world.

Grantaire remembers - it's never been easy, loving him.

* * *

 

Grantaire goes to the gallery the next day, fully intending to just suck it up and stay in his studio until he has something to show for it.

An hour and a half of meticulously mixing out colours, a still blank canvas, and three more turrets on his packing peanut tower is when he decides to go for coffee.

He stops in to Eponine's office on his way out.

"Coffee?"

She grimaces at him from behind her laptop. "Please."

She'd been glad to see him this morning, but things are still tense between them. He thinks Enjolras has talked to her, has managed to smooth things over between them, but he hadn't had time to find much out before he left for work this morning.

"Cool." Grantaire tells her, and heads to the place across the road.

"Bonjour, Pierre. One black coffee and a unicorn hot chocolate, please. Also a latte." He adds, remembering Alec, at the front desk.

As he's waiting for his coffees he looks through the café's Autumn menu.

"You're not doing those pumpkin monstrosities this year?"

Pierre laughs at him. "Unfortunately not. Too many customer complaints."

It's only as Grantaire is walking back across the street with his drinks that he realises.

Like a painting you've walked past a hundred times, and only seen the colours and  lines, that you suddenly realise the shape of: Grantaire realises his life.

When he gets inside the gallery, he goes straight to Eponine's office and sinks down onto the couch inside. He doesn’t have any drinks in his hands, he realises.

"So, I remembered."

"What?" Eponine doesn't glance up from her laptop.

Grantaire looks at her until she does, and it finally clicks for her.

"What, all of it?"

"How could I even know how much memory I remember?"

"Do you remember this?" Eponine moves to flick her ear, but Grantaire anticipates her trademark move for when she's fed up with him, and ducks out of the way in time.

"Holy shit." Eponine says. "Well, this is great, right? You feel okay? Should we call your doctor?"

"I don't know."

He feels really weird. Really, really weird. Kind of sick.

"Hey, it's okay." Eponine puts a hand on his shoulder and he looks up. It's all just a tad overwhelming, but Eponine's touch is grounding. "Come on, I'll give you a lift."

"Where?"

But Grantaire knows. There's only one person he wants to see right now. And he knows Eponine knows that. He knows Eponine - his gorgeous, reliable, loving friend, who's basically taken on twice her workload the past month and hasn't complained once, and he can't help it, he hugs her as she tries to slip past him, his eyes beginning to tear.

"Okay, R. Hey it's fine. Everything's fine." She hugs him back.  There aren't any words for what he wants to say, so he says nothing, just hugs her a long moment, until eventually she pulls away and tugs him out the door.

***

"Hey Jeannie," Grantaire waves at the receptionist, and heads straight down the hall towards Enjolras's office. He opens the door without knocking, and finds Enjolras with Courfeyrac and Marius, bent over Enjolras's computer.

"'Taire!" Enjolras looks up and smiles at him. "What are you doing here?"

Grantaire looks around the room, and realises "You're working on the Thenardier case!"

"Yes. I told you. What?"

But Grantaire barely registers Enjolras's concern, his mind connecting that this is why Enjolras has been making himself crazy. And while he's disappointed that Enjolras has been working himself to the bone, he's also so, _so,_ relieved, that Enjolras is okay. That he's going to be fine. That this is their normal.

"Let's take five everyone." Enjolras tells the room.

Grantaire waits until the other two have left the office, before he shuts the door behind them, and pressing Enjolras into it, hugging him tightly with no intention of ever letting go.

"R? What is it?"

"I feel funny."

Enjolras's hands fly to Grantaire's back as he strokes it softly. "What do you need?"

And Grantaire laughs - giggles bubbling and escaping, and he knows Enjolras is going to be worried, but he can't help it, because he has everything he needs. He tells Enjolras as much.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, I remembered everything, Apollo." Grantaire says, before pulling Enjolras in by his collar to kiss him.

 

Enjolras takes the rest of the day off. His trial is less than a week away, but still he leaves the office for the afternoon and doesn't look back. Enjolras points out landmarks on their way home just to watch Grantaire roll his eyes and confirm, yes, I remember that. They stop by the doctor on their way, just to make sure everything's fine. (It is.) Grantaire will be glad to see the back of that place.

Enjolras can't stop smiling at him. They're making coffee in the kitchen, as Grantaire explains how he got his memories back.

"It wasn't like some big Jumping Jack Flashback or anything. I was just in the coffee shop and I realised Pierre wasn't going to attempt his disgusting pumpkin spice lattes again this year, and then I realised that I realised that, and then I realised that I remembered everything."

"What? No big trigger? No poetic symbolism?"

"Nah."

"The medical journals are going to be disappointed."

Grantaire snorts. "I just hope they'll stop pestering me with research requests. And that Combeferre will stop trying to get me on his podcast. Hey," Grantaire puts his coffee down and hugs Enjolras again. He can't help it, he's been seized by an overwhelming need to be close to him. Enjolras doesn't really seem to mind.

***

Grantaire is texting all his friends as he lies in bed later ( _Courfeyrac, you liar!)_ , when Eros jumps up on the bed and starts purring next to them. Enjolras whispers to him, an actual giggle in his voice, "Do you remember how you used to get up and put the cat out whenever we had sex?"

"That was valid."

Grantaire reaches out and strokes Eros's fur. Enjolras's angry cat. Grantaire still can't remember when Eros had come around to him. He can't tell what's an actual blank in his memory and what's just normal forgetfulness. Everything from the day of the accident is still missing.

He considers, "You know, I think this is as good as it's ever going to get."

Enjolras lays next to him, their legs tangled, as he plays with his fingers.

Enjolras kisses his cheek. "I agree."

Grantaire swats at him. "I didn't mean it like that. I meant the memories. I think all the blanks are gone. Of course, I guess I'll never really be able to tell."

He'll never know if they're all there, but then, nobody ever gets to know how many memories they've forgotten. Grantaire's more than happy with the ones that have made their way back to him.

"Hmm. So do you remember this?" Enjolras kisses the underside of his jaw, like he has a hundred times before.

Grantaire sighs. "Mmhmm."

"Do you remember Australia? New York? Where you took me to the worst concert I've ever been to in my life?"

"I will not have Monsieur Darnielle so insulted in our house."

Naturally, they dissolve into a competition of who can bring up the most embarrassing things from the past six years.

Grantaire confirms "I remember that time in Australia when I caught you dancing to Ninho in your underwear at three a.m."

"I was very homesick, OK. And, well, do you remember the first time I asked you out, and you stared at me for five minutes and didn't say anything?" Enjolras teases.

"Uh, yes… And I remember you getting drunk at the Musain, and trying to barricade out all the bigots of the world."

"Which time?"

"That awful date to the Gnome Museum."

"Says the guy who thought the catacombs would be a fun and romantic place."

"Oh come on, that was cool. And I'm not the sap who took us on a row boat to the Temple of Love."

"Some of us didn't have a lot of experience, OK? Google was my friend. And that _was_ romantic."

"Yeah." Grantaire kisses his cheek, having to concede. "I remember your graduation speech." He tells him, his tone slipping into something softer. "I'd never been so proud of you."

Enjolras stills for a second. "I didn't know you were there for that. We were broken up then."

Grantaire stares at him, then rolls his eyes. "Of course I went."

Enjolras leans forward and kisses him proper.

When they break apart Grantaire whispers between them "I remember the first time I got to kiss you."

Enjolras does it again.

"What about this? Do you remember the first time I did this?"

Grantaire moans, and flips Enjolras over, pressing him into the mattress. Eros jumps angrily off the bed.

***

Things go relatively back to normal for Grantaire. He has quite a bit to catch up on - errands he'd forgotten about, people to talk to. Inside, his head is a bit wild.

There's a constant feeling of embarrassment sitting in his gut, from all the stupid shit he'd thought and done without his memories. All the things he'd assumed about his life before he remembered it. He thinks about drinking a lot. Far more than he ever did before.

Enjolras is trying to work less, he can tell, but he still recognises the signs of anxiety within him. He tries to leave out easy to consume snacks and drag him to bed at a reasonable time at night, but mostly Grantaire has come to accept that it's not his responsibility if Enjolras wants to go into robot mode.

He has enough to worry about. He still can't paint. Whenever he tries he stops being able to breathe, so he gives it up for a while. He has plenty of other things to do anyway, and he tries not to stress too hard about it. It's hard to go back to normal when he knows he's living in a world where in a moment his whole life can be taken away from him.

Remembering hasn't made the voice in his head go away. Before, he could use alcohol to drown it out, but he's determined not to do that anymore. So he tries to focus on other things. Gets back into fencing and tap dancing. Hangs out with his friends - he tries to be alone as little as possible. But then he worries that he's using them and has a minor two-day freak out about it.

Seeing how busy everyone is at Enjolras's firm, he asks if there's anything he can do to help. And it's nice, for a while, getting to work with Enjolras.

But then they start to bicker a little bit. Enjolras is too stressed and Grantaire too cynical and he starts only accepting things he can do outside the firm.

Things are fine, Grantaire tells himself. He's fine, now.

* * *

 

He's drunk again.

But this is the last time.

Really.

He's fucked up. But it's not going to happen again.

(Because, he isn't going to give himself another chance. He looks up on his phone plane tickets to South America. No one knows him in South America. There isn't a single person there he can disappoint.)

Next door, the printer's office sits empty.

Grantaire imagines the ghost of a printed document sits in the out-tray - the documents Enjolras had asked him to collect for the trial.

When he'd walked down the street and seen the bar next door, he'd decided to stop first for a drink.

Just one drink, Grantaire had promised himself, and then he would go in and deal with the printer. It would be easier after a drink, and then he could go home to Enjolras tonight and they wouldn't have to fight.

5p.m. had come and gone, the printer's office long closed, as Grantaire stayed consumed in the Darts Tournament he'd entered, his new bar friends purchasing the next round.

But now, Grantaire would go to South America and start over, and as long as he never had to sober up it would all be fine.

Except, something's terribly wrong.

He's seized with an overwhelming sense of doom, and he starts to sweat. The bar is too loud, the air too thin, too hot, and Grantaire realises he's forgotten something he shouldn't have. He doesn't know what it is, but he _knows something's terribly, terribly wrong_ , and he needs to fix it, now. Now. He needs to-

He needs to find Enjolras. Enjolras always knows what to do, but when Grantaire thinks about him he feels more scared than ever.

***

He finds Enjolras in the lobby of his office, alone. The lights are out already, so that he almost misses him, kneeling on the floor, his hands squeezed tight.

"Enjolras?"

Enjolras snaps his head up to look at him, his eyes wide. "'Taire? What are you doing here?" He gets up off the floor and goes over to him, running his hands along Grantaire's shoulders and down his arms, as if disbelieving he's really there.

"Uh, just came to see you." And shit, Grantaire's words are slurring. He used to be so good at this. Luckily, Enjolras doesn't seem to notice. He looks back around the room, as though just realising where they are.

"Enjolras. Enjolras… We should go."

Enjolras is silent as they head home. Grantaire fumbles as he reaches for his keys, a tribute to how much alcohol he's consumed. Enjolras disappears to the bathroom as soon as they get inside, and Grantaire waits in the kitchen, wondering if he should put on a pot of coffee. If the two of them will be able to get any sleep tonight, as it is.

When Enjolras finally gets out of the bathroom, Grantaire thinks he's caught aflame. There's a pulsing fury emanating from his core. His anger doesn't seem to be directed anywhere, but it radiates outward, with the potential to consume anything in its path, and Grantaire is too close.

He quivers.

Enjolras finally seems to see him.

"Hey, what's wrong? You're shaking." Enjolras asks, placing a hand across Grantaire's shoulder. The anger is still there, poorly concealed. A tissue-paper veil. But there's nothing false in the tenderness of his movements, as he reaches his hand out to take Grantaire's in his own. "What can I do?"

He leads Grantaire into one of their dining chairs, sitting on the one next to him and bending close to him. "It's okay. Everything's okay."

"It's not." Grantaire mumbles, and it's only then that Enjolras notices.

"Wait, are you- R, have you been drinking?"

Enjolras looks at him, and Grantaire starts to cry.

This is the worst part, when it happens. That stage of alcohol consumption that pops the lid on the emotional suppression he's usually so capable of, and leaves him a blubbering inconsolable mess. No matter what he tries he can't get the tears to stop.

"It's okay, 'Taire. Everything's okay."

"I'm so sorry." Grantaire sobs, and then chokes on his words, unable to say anything more.

"Don't apologise. Everything's fine. Let's just sleep it off for now, okay?"

Enjolras has too much practise dealing with a drunken Grantaire, rusty at it as he is. He guides him into their bed, and folds himself across Grantaire's back, making sure he's on his side, his hands coming up to rub careful circles against his back, as he lets Grantaire cry himself to sleep.

***

Grantaire isn't sure how long he sleeps. Probably no more than a few hours - it's still dark outside - but when he wakes he feels stone cold sober. Also just cold - he's alone in bed. He heaves himself up and goes to the bathroom, drinking water straight from the tap and then splashing some on his face.

He finds Enjolras on the balcony, making use of the boxing bag they'd hung there. Grantaire had forgotten they had that. He watches him, silently, as he pours his anger into the bag. He looks exhausted. Sweat has seeped through the back of his shirt, and Grantaire wonders how long he's been out here. (Too long.)

"Enjolras?" Grantaire whispers.

Enjolras flinches, but doesn't move. Not for long moments does he slowly turn around, pulling his gloves off and throwing them to the ground. And then something in him shifts. Softens. Enjolras cracks like a crumbling statue.

"You're awake." Enjolras crosses the balcony to hug him, and Grantaire holds him tight, the cold night air distant to the warmth of the body against him. They stay like that for a while; Enjolras seems unable to let go, but Grantaire is scared they'll catch their death if they stay outside any longer.

"Let's go get some coffee, yeah."

Enjolras doesn't leave his side as he guides them back into the apartment. They drink their coffee side by side at the breakfast bench.

"So, we should probably talk" Grantaire says when his cup is half-empty. One of them has to bring it up, it might as well be him.

Enjolras squeezes his hand. "When- when did you start drinking again?"

They're really doing this. Fuck. Grantaire sighs, and tells him. "A few weeks ago."

 _"Weeks??_ "

"Please don't be mad."

"I'm not mad. _I'm not mad._ I just- why didn't you tell me?"

"You've been very busy."

"I'm never too busy for you. You know that. I've told you that a hundred times."

"I didn’t want you to know, okay? Maybe I didn't want you judging me."

"I am not judging you."

"Bullshit." Grantaire spits back.

They're silent for a few moments. Miraculously, their fingers are still linked together, neither one of them seems willing to let go.

"I'm not judging you, I just…" Enjolras sighs. "This is about your accident, isn't it?"

"No. Yes. I don't know. I think it's just about me being a fuck-up."

Enjolras rolls his eyes. "Could you not, right now? Not tonight."

"I don't know what it's about, okay? The past month has been stressful. Sometimes you just need a drink."

Enjolras snorts, and gets up, finally pulling their hands apart, so he can start pacing the room.

"I can't make sense of this. I can't make sense of any of this. How did I not see it?"

"Enjolras-"

"I should have given the case to someone else the second you got injured. Should have been more focused, maybe then I would have seen-"

"-Enjolras."

"This is my fault, isn't it?" Enjolras stills, and snaps his head over to look at him.

"What? How?"

"You forgot me."

"I know." Grantaire concedes. They never talked about the accident, but apparently they're going to now, of all nights.

"You forgot me, and I had to hold everything together. You were the only one-" Enjolras coughed, then continued, the words coming out thick, "You were the only one who knew everything about me. And then you didn't, and I was all alone."

Enjolras slumps against the wall, his head in his hands, before he snaps it back up, not quite looking at Grantaire. "Did you know, the date you told me, the last date you remembered, was just a week from when we met? Like your brain was trying to cut me out of it, completely. Why? Why not one more week? Why could- Am I-" Enjolras cuts himself off and slinks down to the floor, hides his face in his hands again. "I've fucked everything up."

Grantaire has been frozen ever since Enjolras raised his voice, but now he gets up, and sinks down next to him, pulls at Enjolras's hand, as he continues to hide his face, burying it in the shoulder away from Grantaire.

"I'm sorry. Enjolras, I'm sorry."

"What- No don't apologise! You shouldn't be apologising."

"You're right. It wasn't my fault." Grantaire can't believe he can say those words and believe them. Something about Enjolras irrationally blaming himself probably made him realise how fucked up it was that Grantaire had been doing the same. Grantaire informs him "I don't know why my brain decided to break for a while, it just happened. Brains are weird. And it wasn't your fault either."

Enjolras scoffs.

"It wasn't. Hey. Listen to me."

Enjolras is silent for a long while, but eventually he turns back to Grantaire.

"I'm sorry I yelled. You hate it when I yell."

"You were upset."

Enjolras wipes his nose on his sleeve. "That's no excuse."

"Okay. Well you're forgiven."

Grantaire is hardly going to judge someone for letting their emotions get the best of them.

Eros comes to see what they're yelling about, and Enjolras picks him up and buries his face in his fur.

"I'm so tired." Enjolras looks up at him, his eyes wide and child-like, and Grantaire's never seen him like this before.

"Let's go to bed then, yeah?"

Slowly, Enjolras nods. He lets Grantaire pull him up and guide him to their bedroom, still gripping the cat in his hands. Light is just starting to touch the sky, and Grantaire lets Enjolras settle into bed as he shuts the wooden blinds across their windows - he's pretty sure it's the first time he's had to use them. Then he climbs into bed, and they curl around each other, eyes closed, sleep just around the corner.

 

"Enjolras?" A quiet voice in the dark.

"Yeah?"

"I didn't get the printing done."

Enjolras exhales, loud as a drum in the silent early morning. "That's okay."

***

Once more, Grantaire wakes up to an empty bed, but there's a cup of coffee waiting for him on the bedside table, and a second later Enjolras pops into the room.

"Hey, I was just coming to wake you. I made breakfast. Eggs benedict."

This morning, Enjolras is transformed. There's nothing fragile or unsure about him, no hint of the emotion of last night. Just a steady determination to put things right. He's been busy this morning - the dining room has been cleared, the kitchen cleaned. They eat breakfast at the dining table. Well, it's mid-afternoon, but Grantaire has always believed breakfast is a feeling, not a time.

 

After breakfast, he calls his sponsor, and then makes an appointment with his therapist. Which he probably should have done weeks ago. He's an idiot.

The waiting room is just as bad as he remembers - air conditioner up too high, out of date and slightly sticky magazines, and some truly hideous art on the walls. And worse - his racing heart, cold skin, feeling of impending doom, and the sense that he doesn't really need to be here, he can sort his shit out on his own, that's just as familiar. Yay for memory, he supposes.

Despite nearly walking out, he does make it to his appointment. His therapist explains to him that without the tools he's been using since his first diagnosis, he's let his thinking slip back into negative habits. That he has to learn again how to manage that voice in his head that tells him he's not good enough.

Which seems obvious, once she's said it, and also really sucks. He never wanted to have to go through this again.

But she also promises him it will be easier this time around, and Grantaire realises, with some surprise, that he believes her.

***

A few days later, Enjolras sits him down at the dining room table and says "I need to talk to you about something."

Why does no one know how to say that in a not completely terrifying way? Maybe there is no other way.

Enjolras waits for him to sit down on the couch, and then sits next to him, leaving a space between them. When he takes Grantaire's coffee cup from his hands and sets it down on the coffee table, Grantaire really starts to panic.

"So…" Enjolras huffs. He's never seen him so lost for words. "I'm just going to come out and say this. There's a... possibility, that your accident might not have been so… accidental."

Grantaire stares at him.

"I mean, there's a very strong, very real, possibility that it might have been orchestrated by Jondrette Family Enterprises. The Thenardiers."

"What?"

"But it's okay. I'm handling it. I mean we'll probably never be able to get a conviction, there's too much corruption within the criminal department. But I have people looking into certain avenues of information, and protection, and-"

"Are you serious?" Grantaire's brain is making a fuzzy noise. "You told me months ago, when you took on this case, that nothing bad was going to happen. You promised me-"

"I know. Okay. I know. I'm so sorry, R."

The look Enjolras gives him makes Grantaire instantly cave and want to comfort him, which is so ridiculously unfair.

"Is this- Am I the only one  he's tried to hurt?"

Enjolras doesn't answer right away, which makes Grantaire certain he's about to lie.

"Tech-ni-cally." Is what Enjolras eventually settles on. Grantaire looks at him.

"There might have been a small incident, at the office the other night. With the trial so close, they're getting desperate. I'm so sorry, R." Enjolras says again. "I thought I could protect you. I thought I could protect everyone. And then they-" Enjolras cuts himself off, determined not to get emotional again, but Grantaire can see how much he's hurting over this. Grantaire can't help it - he leans over and pulls Enjolras close to him.

That Enjolras would put his life on the line - Enjolras, four years out of law school, who had brought a knife to a tank fight, and _he could have died_.

And for what?

Grantaire just wants to tuck Enjolras somewhere safe, where the world won't be able to get to him, but he can't. He'll never be able to protect him the way he deserves.

Enjolras pulls away after a second.

"So, I've been thinking about what we're going to do."

"You've known about this for a while, haven't you?"

"I had my suspicions. I've only just had them confirmed. 'Taire, I've been so blind." Enjolras pulls out his phone and scrolls for a while until he finds what he's looking for. "I got this message, when you were in the hospital. And I didn't even register it. Didn't think anything of it - I was so distracted, at the time. But now, it seems so obvious. I should have noticed, I should have-"

Grantaire looks down at the phone and sees the message, an unknown number: _Your final warning_

"Enjolras-"

"I should have noticed. I'm not- But we  have to look forward." Enjolras faces him, the intensity of his gaze burning. "The question is, what do you want to do, now?"

"You don't want to drop the suit." It isn't a question. Grantaire knows. Enjolras doesn't drop his gaze.

"I really don't. I can't just let them get away with this. Not again. Not after everything they've done." Enjolras runs a shaky hand through his hair, and continues, "But this isn't just my choice. They didn't just come after me, they came after _you._ I won't make this decision without you. If you tell me to drop this, I will."

It isn't really an option, to him. He'd follow Enjolras anywhere.

"Okay, then."

"R, think about it. Everything we've been through in the past month could just be the beginning. I don't want you to just-"

"I want to do this with you. You have to tell the rest of the plaintiffs, the witnesses, what we're dealing with." Grantaire takes his hand, turns it over, presses their palms together. "But I'll stand beside you, if you'll let me?"

Enjolras is a silent for a long time. Eventually he breathes out "Okay then. If you're sure."

He squeezes Grantaire's hand.

***

The day of Enjolras's trial comes, and it's actually pretty boring. There's a lot of lawyers asking stupid questions and looking too pleased with themselves, and a never-ending witness list that Grantaire only barely manages to stay awake for, but he does his best to play the part of supportive husband.

He's sitting with Enjolras in the corridor outside the courtroom, waiting for the jury to get back with their decision, when Gavroche charges up to them.

"Enjolras, what the hell!"

"Hey, language!"

"Not you too. I'm not a kid anymore. Why wasn't I on the witness list?"

"Honestly Gav, I don't need your testimony. My case is just fine without you."

"But-"

"We've got him, okay. You don't need to worry about this. Now let's go back and watch the jury fine that fucker."

Enjolras ruffles Gavroche's hair, despite the fact he's now taller than all of the Amis, which shuts him up right away. He ducks his head away, and suddenly he's twelve years old again.

"Ugh, stop. I have a reputation to maintain." Gavroche smooths his hair back and sticks his tongue out at Enjolras before ducking back into the gallery.

"Thank you." Grantaire tells him when Gavroche is gone, and Enjolras squeezes his hand.

"I meant it. I don't need his testimony. Jondrette left a paper trail incriminating enough on its own, and the only person I want his ire focused on is myself."

And they are going to talk about that, obviously - Grantaire is not letting that go - but the jury is back already and they have to go back inside, and Grantaire hugs Enjolras quickly before going to sit in the gallery.

***

The jury votes Guilty, and the judge orders the amount of fifteen million dollars to be paid to the plaintiffs, and Enjolras doesn't quite believe it. All the corruption, the abuse, and the Thenardiers are taken out with a civil suit over employee overtime. It's stunning. He keeps his face stoic as everyone clears the courtroom. Inside, he's alight. Bubbling, floating, giddy, but he's long since perfected his mask of professionalism.

There's quite a crowd letting out, so Enjolras ducks up to the second floor bathroom no one knows about, knowing he won't be able to find R for a while.

He's washing his hands when he hears the door of the bathroom swing open behind him, but no one enters right away. It's enough to put Enjolras on his guard, but he doesn't start to panic until two men enter the room and head for the stalls, checking they're empty before turning to exit the bathroom again. Enjolras quickly calculates the odds of making it out the door before them and dismisses the idea. He can't believe he's already become so careless, but he hadn't really expected Jondrette to try anything right outside the courtroom.

The two men leave the bathroom and Enjolras quickly appraises his surroundings. No second exit, no window. He braces himself against the sink and tries to think, but his brain is sluggish. What if they're trying something similar with R right now? What if they go after the other witnesses? For the first time since he started pursuing the suit Enjolras feels the prickle of regret, but he shoves it down. He has to fight - what would be the alternative?

Monsieur Thenardier enters a minute later. Alone. Enjolras hadn't expected that, but he supposes he feels confident enough to confront Enjolras with his lackeys waiting outside.

"Enjolras."

Enjolras looks at him, his face stone and fury, betraying none of the fear lining his insides.

Thenardier continues, his face a mirror of the hatred Enjolras feels. "You've made a grave mistake today. This isn't over, you know."

"You think so?" Enjolras snaps, making his choice. He swings around and pushes Thenardier against the wall. There's only an unlocked door between them and any number of lawyers, judges, witnesses, but Enjolras hardly thinks of the risk, worth it just to see the fear in Thenardier's eyes. "You think 15 million hurts? You went after my family. I am going to _ruin_ you. You're damn right this isn't over."

Unable to resist, Enjolras shoves him one more time, then turns on his heel, the older man too shocked to say anything as Enjolras walks out the door.

He ignores the lackeys waiting by the door and charges down the corridor. When he's halfway along it he pauses to straighten his tie, when Grantaire sees him.

He barely has time to drop his hands as Grantaire runs over to him and wraps him up in a kiss, lifting Enjolras slightly off the ground. When they finally break apart Enjolras blushes.

"R, we're in public."

Grantaire watches the blush spread across Enjolras's face as he looks down, coy.

"Sorry." He puts a little more space between them, but he lingers close, his hands still gripping Enjolras's waist. "That was the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. You were incredible."

Enjolras almost manages to forget about the bathroom encounter. Manages not to think about whether anything could be worth what he almost lost, as he sees Grantaire smile at him like he's the sun.

"Let's go home, yeah?" Enjolras asks, and doesn't quite manage to block out the image of losing his home forever. Grantaire doesn't notice.

"Sure thing," he takes Enjolras's hand as they make their way to the exit. "Want to stop for ice-cream on the way?"

"Why not?" Enjolras replies. Life is short after all.

*** 

They gather at the Musain that night to celebrate. Despite being a week night nearly everyone manages to make it.

"Shout us another round, Enjolras. Not all of us won a fifteen million dollar lawsuit today." Bahorel's voice booms across the bar.

Eponine pipes in "No, but some of us did sell a 150K statue."

It takes Grantaire a few seconds to connect it, before he shouts out "No way! The 'Little Man' sold?"

"Some dude came in, needing an 'original Grantaire' to complement his newly acquired Picasso."

Grantaire snorts. The truth is, once he'd gotten used to the idea, Grantaire hadn't been that surprised by his success. Rich people are stupid about art.

He feels Enjolras quietly bristle next to him, but he's all sweetness when he leans in to whisper to Grantaire "Congratulations, that's great news." He kisses Grantaire's cheek before getting up off the couch. "All right, what does everyone want."

He talks with Eponine a bit about the gallery - she still has a lot to catch him up on - until Enjolras comes back and passes him a ginger ale from the tray, as everyone grabs their assorted drinks. Grantaire shakes his gaze away from the half-finished beer someone's abandoned on the table.

"Are you okay?" Enjolras's voice is soft in his ear.

Grantaire turns to look at him. "I think so."

***

Grantaire spends the next few weeks helping Eponine reorganise things at the gallery. They've decided to open a guest exhibit, until he gets his inspiration back. It's nice, finding artists he wants to promote, and getting to judge other people's art instead of constantly feeling judged himself. But, he's working on that, as well.

Now that his big trial is over, Enjolras comes down to the gallery a lot to have lunch with him. It's unspeakably nice, this peaceful interlude they're in together. He hopes it will last forever. He can see, though, that Enjolras is already itching for a new project.

Sure enough, as they're eating take-out in the park on an unseasonably warm November day, Enjolras turns to him and asks "What do you know about corporate manslaughter?"

Grantaire groans, but settles back against the grass, ready to listen. "Not nearly as much as I sense you're about to tell me."

He listens dutifully for half an hour, but truthfully he can't be mad. Enjolras isn't one to be content - and Grantaire loves every part of him.

Seized with the sudden urge, Grantaire tells him, plainly, "You're the best thing that ever happened to me, Mon Ange. I don't think I ever told you that."

Enjolras made everything feel easier - worth fighting for. He had come into his life and given him hope - at the time Grantaire had probably clutched too hard at it, so much that it hadn't been healthy. Had probably cut himself on those edges.

Enjolras leans over to kiss his cheek, like he can't help himself, and tells him "You would have been fine without me. I know you would have."

Six years ago, Grantaire wouldn't have believed that. Five years ago Grantaire wouldn't have believed that. But knowing what he knows now, he thinks maybe he would have been. He's stronger than he ever thought he could be.

Still, "I'm glad it was with you, though."

* * *

 

It's late one night, when Grantaire sits in the study, his sketchbook in hand, a bunch of empty coffee mugs surrounding him. He's been mapping out his next exhibition - a 3D exploration of time. He'll have to order in some marble, and some limestone. And some mirrors. Actually, he flicks to the next page and starts making a list of materials he'll need.

The ideas are coming so fast he's struggling to get them all down.

The door creaks open, and Enjolras's sleepy bed-head appears.

"Hey, are you coming to bed tonight?"

They tend to work like this - poorly synched cycles of terrible productivity times.

"Hang on, I've almost got this hashed out."

Eros brushes against his legs now that Enjolras has let the door open. Enjolras stumbles over to him, sitting on the arm of the chair and putting his feet on Grantaire's thighs. Grantaire rests his sketchbook against his shins and keeps drawing, as Enjolras peers over his shoulder, but he doesn't say anything until Grantaire finally sets his pencil down ten minutes later, and grins up at him.

"Happy?"

Enjolras smiles sleepily at him. "Do you want to talk it through with me?"

"I would, but one of us has to go to work in the morning." Grantaire looks at him pointedly.

Enjolras only shrugs. "I'm between cases at the moment. I'll go in late."

"Who are you and what have you done-"

Enjolras covers Grantaire's mouth with his hand. "I think we should take a break from the identity jokes indefinitely?" He picks up Grantaire's notebook and shifts so he's properly sitting in his lap. "Tell me about your art."

So Grantaire does.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed this fic consider leaving a comment? Concrit is also really welcome. xx :)
> 
> Warnings: Some very brief mentions of blood and some very vague suicidal thoughts. Alcoholism and depression. Emesis. A little violence. The aquarium. Also lots of swears. Feel free to message me if you're worried.


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